


Fire and Ice

by poetroe



Series: Fire and Ice [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Anti-Hero, Canon-Typical Violence, Diamonds, Emma Swan is Not Henry Mills's Parent, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fire Powers, I'm Bad At Tagging, Ice Powers, Rival Relationship, Robin Hood is mentioned like 4 times, Secret Identity, Swan Queen - Freeform, the Red/Snow is really minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 20:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15151157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetroe/pseuds/poetroe
Summary: Meet Nightflame, Boston’s very own super villain. The name had been bestowed on her after her first two weeks of actively using her powers, describing her as a fiery villain; mysterious and only active during the night.Meet Black Blizzard, Boston’s very own superhero and Nightflame’s ultimate nemesis. When she isn’t screwing up her heists herself, Nightflame can usually count on Black Blizzard to pick up the slack and throw a wrench in her plans.They are rivals of the most traditional sort: where Nightflame has fire powers, Black Blizzard commands ice; where Nightflame is criminal and evil, Black Blizzard is righteous and good. According to everyone else, anyway.(Super-powered Swan Queen AU)





	Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [cops, robbers & incredibly bad decisions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12033321) by [C_AND_B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_AND_B/pseuds/C_AND_B). 



> Recently I’ve been rereading my fav swanqueen fics and it really made me want to write one myself, so I did! I was partly inspired by this one wonderful supercorp fic you should all read, and partly by endlessly clicking on a random prompt generator. So this story is set in Boston. I’ve never actually been there but I wanted to make it feel authentic, so I googled a lot and as a result the people and places mentioned are about 50% real and 50% my imagination. Apologies in advance to anyone from Boston reading this. Also this was meant to be a short one shot but it got away from me so much that it’s now twice as long as the longest fic I’ve ever written!! lmao have fun with it you guys

It’s a dark, quiet Tuesday night. It’s closing in on five in the morning, it’s stopped raining and it’s not too cold. Perfect conditions for what Emma is up to, which is screwing up the heist she has been meticulously planning for the last four weeks.

Meet Nightflame, Boston’s very own super villain. The name had been bestowed on her after her first two weeks of actively using her powers, describing her as a fiery villain; mysterious and only active during the night. Accurate as the name might be, being called a villain is insulting. Nightflame sees herself as more of a Robin Hood-type of antihero—not that the newspapers ever pick up on her humanitarian efforts. And so what if she sometimes keeps a little something for herself? She got these powers, she might as well gain a little something from them.

Nightflame is currently sprinting through dark alleys, trying to get as far away from the Federal Reserve Bank of Boston as possible. It was all going according to plan, really, until her sidekick Werewolf tripped the alarm, which forced Nightflame to blow her powers out by burning up the camera’s and blasting them an escape route. God, she was never going to invite Ruby to a heist again.

Had she not used her powers to make sure they were able to get out without getting caught, Nightflame would have simply used her fire to propel herself upwards and into the sky; everyone in this city is asleep, and it isn’t like she ever cares about being seen. That’s what the mask is for.

As it is, however, she’s running like a crazy person, trying to get as far from the sound of police sirens as possible in the maze that is this city. She’s been living here for a year, Nightflame silently chastises herself. She should really know the way by now. She’s still running, her pace slowing to one where she might be mistaken for an insomniac jogger by anyone sleep deprived enough to be awake at this hour. Nightflame takes off her mask, carefully folds it and sticks it inside the red leather jacket that makes up the most recognizable part of her costume.

Taking the mask off turns her back into Emma. She’s learned that the mask demands she keeps her alter ego’s separate; it’s better that way, not to mention safer. Although she has some friends in the criminal underbelly of the city who know her as the spitfire criminal named Nightflame, she has plenty of other friends who only know her as Emma; the jack of all trades who works every nightshift she can get.

Emma is still thinking about the failed heist and the amount of money she’s missing out on, already planning ways to get enough together before her rent is due. She already asked her roommate Mary Margaret to pay it for her in advance once, she isn’t about to do it again. Thinking about money and due payments, Emma doesn’t notice she’s arrived in a part of town she’s never been to before.

It’s about the complete opposite of her usual beat; all expensive apartment towers with parks and tall trees surrounding them. It’s obviously a better, richer part of the city, compared to the tiny apartment Emma rents in what could be called the worst, most criminal part of town. Space abounds here; the streets are wide, the buildings are tall, the parks are big.

Emma notices she’s started dragging her feet while she’s walking around this neighborhood, and the exhaustion from overusing her powers and running on three hours of sleep and some coffee is starting to catch up with her. She has no idea what time it is, but there is light on the horizon and Emma knows she needs to get out of here soon, before people start waking up and going to work. She looks down at herself, her clothes smelling like sweat and smoke and completely covered in soot and dust from the explosion that provided them with a way out. With a sigh, Emma walks over to the closest car in sight. It’s a shiny black Mercedes-Benz. Emma whistles softly before going to work on the lock.

The car is from the late eighties, early nineties and easy enough to break into. Once she’s in, Emma collapses on the front seat. She knows she could easily hot-wire this car and drive off in it, but blowing her powers out means that she’s probably too exhausted to get home in one piece. Just as the sun starts peeking out above the horizon, Emma falls asleep.

An angry voice is what wakes her up. “Who are you and what are you doing, _ruining_ my car?” Emma blinks, bleary-eyed, and stares up at the furious woman standing in the open door.

“Oh, uh, sorry about that,” she answers, voice hoarse from sleep. Sitting up straight and looking at the seat, Emma notices the woman is right—all the dirt from her clothes is now on the leather seats and floor of the car. “I, uh, needed a place to crash last night,” Emma starts, hoping that an explanation will somewhat diminish the pure rage in the woman’s eyes. Key word being ‘hoping’; since with every word that leaves her mouth, the woman seems to be getting angrier. “I was lost and I don’t know this part of town, and I actually wanted to steal your car and drive home but my roommate always says that driving drowsy is just as bad as driving drunk and I didn’t want to get in an accident, especially not in a car like _this_ , I mean—” Emma stops talking when the corner of the woman’s mouth pulls up in an ugly sneer, vein on her forehead protruding in irritation. The pure hatred that’s being directed at her sends chills up Emma’s spine and she suddenly feels the need to get out of here, _now_. “Uh, you know what? I’m just gonna go,” Emma says as she scrambles to get out of the car. A hand with a steel grip on her upper arm stops her before she can get too far, though.

“Although I suppose you expect gratitude for _not stealing my car_ , settling on _completely ruining_ its interior instead,” the woman says, her tone cold as ice and threatening, “I do expect some sort of retribution for using my car as a third rate motel.”

“Sure,” Emma says quickly. “Absolutely. Whatever you want.” The woman nods once and pulls a card from her wallet.

“I expect you to call me within two days so we can settle the damages. If you do not, know that I am more capable of finding people than your average bounty hunter.” Emma nods silently, eyes scanning the card. It’s a fancy matte black, with white letters graciously spelling out ‘Regina Mills’, an address and a phone number.

“Yeah, I’ll be in touch,” she says, sticking the card in the pocket of her jacket. “Sorry again for…” She motions to the car. “And thanks I guess, for letting me crash.” Emma would be a dead woman for sure if the look that the woman, _Regina_ , shoots her could kill, so she just nods a last time, turns around and quickly walks away.

***

Nightflame is back in the same rich neighborhood she had wound up a couple of nights ago, if only out of pure spite. When they spoke on the phone, Regina had coolly told her she’d already had the inside of the car cleaned and steamed thoroughly, the costs amounting to two-hundred and fifty dollars. Either the woman overpaid or she’d hired the best car cleaners in the entire country, because according to a late-night Google search the average price lay at least a hundred bucks lower.

It’s just poetic justice, Nightflame decides, that she’s robbing a couple of houses in the same rich neighborhood this whole thing started in, to cover the costs.

Her fire allows for a clean, quick series of burglaries. The flames propel her up to the balcony of one of the apartments, then she melts the lock if the door isn’t already open, after which she quickly sneaks inside, grabs whatever valuable items she can find laying around and puts them in her backpack. She’s on another balcony, softly closing the door behind herself when a gust of freezing air washes over her. Nightflame can feel the tiny hairs on her neck stand upright in the cold, and when she looks down at her arms she can see goosebumps. _Fuck_.

“So we meet again,” Nightflame says, quickly turning the grimace on her face into a confident smirk as she turns around. Reckless confidence in the face of adversary is one of the added powers the flames, and especially the mask, grant her. The woman in front of her is shrouded entirely in black, sitting on the railing of the balcony, completely relaxed like they’re not a deadly amount of floors up.

“That we do,” she speaks calmly.

Meet Black Blizzard, Boston’s very own superhero and Nightflame’s ultimate nemesis. When she isn’t screwing up her heists herself, Nightflame can usually count on Black Blizzard to pick up the slack and throw a wrench in her plans. They are rivals of the most traditional sort: where Nightflame has fire powers, Black Blizzard commands ice; where Nightflame is criminal and evil, Black Blizzard is righteous and good. According to everyone else, anyway.

Tugging firmly on the straps of her backpack, Nightflame is busy scanning her surroundings. Going back inside is obviously not an option; not when she’d seen some impressive Lego structures in the living room, meaning there were kids asleep inside. That leaves only one escape route.

“How have you been?” Nightflame asks casually as she walks up to where the other woman is perched on the railing. “Catch any criminals yet this week?”

“Not yet,” Black Blizzard says as she gracefully slides down onto the balcony, probably by using her powers in a way because there is no way someone can move elegantly like that _without_ superpowers. There’s a familiar glint in the eyes behind the mask. “I’m about to change that, though.” The smirk that appears on her face is a challenging one, and Nightflame feels herself mirroring it.

Though she will never admit it, this is the part of being a super criminal that she loves the most. Of course the money is nice, but stealing would become a drag if it wasn’t for the constant confrontation she gets from the ice queen in front of her. There’s something about challenging and teasing her that is just so damn _satisfying_ , especially when she gets away with it. Which, Nightflame is proud to say, happens more often than not.

Without waiting for the Blizzard to make good on her promise, Nightflame smirks, sprints past the other woman and jumps off the balcony. The wind is fierce against her face as she lets herself fall towards the quickly approaching pavement. Then she lets her powers kick in, feeling the familiar heat spread to her balled fists before flames erupt from them and propel her forwards, Iron Man-style. A glance over her shoulder shows Black Blizzard furiously shooting bursts of ice at her from the balcony and Nightflame starts to zig-zag as she’s gaining altitude. She abruptly loses some height as one particularly well-aimed burst hits her shoulder. The freezing pain is immediate and Nightflame grimaces. Giving herself a powerful blast forwards, she momentarily stops flying to bring up one hand and melt the ice around her shoulder. Once she starts approaching the ground again, Nightflame uses her powers for a shaky landing, continuing on foot. She’s gotten away far enough to duck in a darker side street and escape back into the night.

***

“Look, Emma! The Black Blizzard and Nightflame were spotted again last night!” Mary Margaret pushes the third page of the Boston Herald under her nose. Emma grumbles around her much-needed cup of coffee. Her roommate gets even enthusiastic as the kids she teaches about all this superhero stuff. And they didn’t even make the front page this time!

“God,” she replies, and despite already knowing the answer, asks: “what did they get up to this time?” Mary Margaret starts talking animatedly about a fight, making it sound way more exciting than it had been for Emma.

“According to Black Blizzard, she hit her with her ice multiple times, effectively shooting Nightflame out of the sky, before she got away on foot,” Mary Margaret reads, and Emma chokes on her coffee.

“What? That can’t be right,” she says. Mary Margaret shoots her a look.

“You don’t believe Black Blizzard’s literal eye witness account of what happened?” There’s a hint of judgement in her tone, stemming from the high regard in which Mary Margaret holds the Blizzard, but Emma just shrugs.

“I just think Nightflame wouldn’t have been able to get away, had she _really_ been shot out of the sky,” she says as she finishes her coffee.

“Huh. I guess you’re right,” Mary Margaret says, tilting her head thoughtfully.

Later that day, after pawning the stuff she stole at her regular shady pawnshop, Emma calls Regina.

“Hello, Miss Swan. I assume you’ve got the money?” Regina’s voice sounds positively disinterested and Emma rolls her eyes.

“Good morning to you too, Regina,” she answers sarcastically. “And yes, I’ve got it together. In cash, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It is, though I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less from someone who broke into my car, simply to spend the night.” Emma frowns and opens her mouth to give Regina a piece of her mind about her stupid elitist expectations, but Regina is already continuing. “I suggest we meet in front of my building?”

“Sure,” Emma answers. “Better park your car out front though, new money architecture looks all the same to me.” She hears Regina scoff at the other side of the call.

“I will see you at five, Miss Swan. Don’t be late.” Before Emma can manage a witty response, Regina hangs up.

“What a _bitch_ ,” she mutters to herself.

When she walks up to the building later that day, Regina is already there; looking every bit as put together and authoritative as she had that morning she’d woken up Emma. Her expression is a neutral one, but turns into a frown as soon as her eyes land on Emma.

“Hey,” Emma greets her. Regina says nothing, only answers with an expectant glare. “Right,” Emma continues, feeling a bit awkward under the other woman’s scrutinizing gaze, “the money.” She gets her wallet out of the back pocket of her jeans and pulls out a couple of bills. “Sorry again,” she says as she hands Regina the money. Emma rocks back and forth on her heels as Regina quickly counts the bills.

“This is too much,” she finally says, looking a bit out of her depth.

“Yeah,” Emma grins. “I figured you could buy a drink on me, you know, loosen up a little. Might even loosen up enough to pull out that stick out of your ass.” Regina fixes her with an accusing glare before pushing the excess bills back in Emma’s hand.

“No thank you,” she says sharply. “I don’t need your charity, Miss Swan. Nor your horrific use of language.” With that, she swivels around and marches inside, leaving Emma on the steps of the building, a witty comeback unused on her lips.

***

Nightflame is back on the streets that night. There have been some murmurs and whispers of either the Russian or the Baltic mob bringing in a shipment of exotic items tonight, unknown except for their worth on the black market. Both tales of that obscene amount of money these items will make and the absence of tales actually describing them is what draws Nightflame to the docks. She’s curious by nature, always keeping an eye on what’s being smuggled into the city, occasionally stepping in and stealing from the smugglers when it’s something that is particularly interesting to her.

It’s a full moon tonight, which means that Werewolf is out to play as well, and will most likely be joining her. Nightflame is perched high up on one of the cranes used to lift containers off and on ships, giving her an excellent vantage point of the entire harbor. There is only one ship still unloading at this time of night. Casually stepping off the crane, Nightwing lets herself plummet down before using her powers at the last moment to make a soft landing. Her fire is fundamentally unfit for stealth, but Nightflame usually tries to make the most of it, opting to use them only for the little things when she’s stalking her prey. She’s about to sneak to the one dock where the lights are still on when a voice whispers softly in her ear.

“Hey,” Werewolf says, and Nightflame jumps.

“Goddammit, you just scared the shit out of me,” she whispers. Werewolf shoots her a smug grin.

Meet Werewolf, stealthy ninja extraordinaire, and occasionally Nightflame’s trusty sidekick—not that Werewolf would ever call herself that. Contrary to popular culture, Werewolf doesn’t get her crazy fighting skills and power from the moon, but from her granny; in both genes and a life spent training under the tutelage of one of the scariest women Nightflame has ever met. It’s fun to keep up the whole ‘real life werewolf’ schtick, though; so Werewolf wears an ushanka (one of those crazy Russian fur hats), she only comes out around the full moon and she lets her nails grow so she can viciously claw the eyes out of anyone brave enough to engage her in a fight.

“What’s today’s catch?” Werewolf drawls as her eyes zero in on the containers that are currently being unloaded from the ship. Nightflame follows her gaze and shrugs.

“Don’t know,” she answers, “but every criminal in this city has been on edge for weeks, so whatever it is, it’s bound to be good.” Werewolf’s grin widens at the prospect of something very, _very_ valuable and the challenge it no doubt accompanies.

“Alright then, let’s go,” she says, as she pushes past Nightflame and starts walking towards the dock impatiently. “Any plan of attack, boss?” Nightflame thinks for a moment before she answers. It’s true that there have been rumors and whispers about this drop, but unlike times in the past when they were laced with excitement and determination, everything Nightflame has heard so far has been hesitant; the accounts no less informing than usual but with an air of caution, like no one really wants anything to do with whatever is being smuggled here. For some reason, Nightflame knows there won’t be any other criminals trying to compete with them, tonight.

“No,” Nightflame finally answers, falling into step besides Werewolf. “Just do what you do best—knock those bastards out, have my back and don’t get shot.” A hand pats her on the back.

“Will do,” Werewolf smirks as she pulls the ushanka down over her ears.

The amount of men walking on and around the ship is as large as Nightflame had expected with a haul this valuable, so she and Werewolf take them out one by one; silently and efficiently. She knows from experience that to go unnoticed for as long as possible gets the most results, because the second they’re found out, bullets are going to rain down on them like a summer storm.

Nightflame’s technique for missions like these is not the wild, chaotic wildfire she reserves for the Black Blizzard and occasionally the police; it’s close quarters hand-to-hand combat she’s come to perfect, thanks to Ruby and her grandmother. The only difference between training outside of the cottage on the outskirts of the city and fighting in the dark night on this boat being the flames Nightflame keeps tight around her hands; a layer of heat that makes her punches burn whenever they hit. She tries to keep the men as silent as possible, but they tend to let out strangled screams when she burns their skin. After painstakingly keeping the third one who screams silent, Nightflame improvises and starts throwing her victims overboard, into the water. It goes a little bit easier after that.

“How many you got?” she asks, just a little bit out of breath, when they reconvene behind one of the containers at the bow of the ship. Werewolf shrugs.

“I don’t know, was I supposed to keep count?” she answers. Nightflame rolls her eyes through the mask.

“Let’s call it something to keep in mind for next time,” she says. “Now, I threw most of the guys on my side overboard, how about you?”

“Same.”

“Good.” Nightflame carefully rolls up the slightly frayed sleeves of her jacket. “Then let’s go find something cool to steal. Keep an eye out for a white container. We got this.” She exchanges a quick grin with Werewolf and then they’re off, sprinting through the shadows cast by the stacks of containers on the ship. Nightflame is whipping her head around, eyes sliding over the vast amount of containers surrounding them. They’re almost at the bridge when she spots it.

“Wolf!” she hisses. Werewolf’s eyes are on her instantly and she points towards a dirty white container. Nightflame immediately goes to work on the lock when they get there. It melts easily enough and they quickly go in. It’s even darker inside the container than outside, so Nightflame gets out her phone and turns on the flashlight. The container is filled with all kinds of weapons, but Nightflame doesn’t spare them a second glance and makes a beeline for a small, decorative wooden box that’s hidden in the left-hand corner of the container.

“Score,” she whispers with a grin. Werewolf comes up behind her to peek at the box from over her shoulder.

“What are you waiting for, Em? Come on, open it!” Werewolf whispers back, excitedly, just as Nightflame is shushing her for partly blurting out her actual name. She rolls her eyes and her fingers find the clasp. It’s locked, too; in other words, no match for Nightflame’s glowing fingers. Throwing the half-melted metal away, she opened the box with one hand, shining a light on its contents with the other. Inside, on a dark green cushion that looks like it’s velvet, lies a single diamond. It’s big, bigger than Nightflame has ever seen in her life. She’s come across diamonds, sure. The little white things come into the city bunches at a time. This diamond is as big as a large handful of those, and shines a vivid yellow in the light from Nightflame’s phone. Werewolf lets out a soft wolf whistle at the sight of it.

“Damn, that’s pretty,” she sighs. Nightflame can only nod in silent awe. The brilliance of the diamond has a dazing effect on her. She feels like something is released inside of her, all of a sudden making her weightless; completely elevated if it weren’t from the doubt that is trickling in and revolving into a troublesome weight in her stomach. They should get far away from here, right now. Not wasting any more time drooling over the diamond, Nightflame snatches it from the box and pushes it in the front pocket of her jeans.

“Let’s go,” she tells Werewolf hurriedly. “They’re not going to be happy to find this gone.” Werewolf nods and then they’re climbing out of the container, making a run for the side of the ship. “Come on, climb on my back!” Nightflame loudly whispers to Werewolf when they’ve reached the edge. The other woman raises an eyebrow suggestively and Nightflame rolls her eyes. Werewolf climbs up, though, and holds her tightly by the shoulders as Nightflame takes off, fire spewing brightly from her fists. There is some yelling and shots in the air as they fly away from the ship. Nightflame keeps low in order to escape the line of sight of the people shooting at them, and ducks into an abandoned warehouse. There, she skids to a halt, nearly throwing Werewolf from her back in the process.

“I hope you’re not expecting me to applaud for that landing,” Werewolf says jokingly, probably feeling giddy. Nightflame knows, because she feels the same way.

“Not the landing, no,” she grins, pulling the diamond from her pocket. “This, however? They should give us a standing ovation.” Werewolf grins back and flies around her neck. They spend the next moment hugging, giggling and jumping around while entangled in each other, feeling ultimately ecstatic. “God, it’s going to be like the Federal Reserve never even happened,” Nightflame says once they break apart.

“Don’t even mention that name to me anymore,” Werewolf whines as she snatches the diamond from her hands. “That heist meant nothing. You gotta believe me, baby, you’re the only one for me.” She kisses the diamond multiple times and Nightflame raises an eyebrow amusedly.

“I can see this is already going to you head,” she says with a smirk.

“Well, you know what they say,” Werewolf purrs. “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” Nightflame chuckles as Werewolf goes right back at observing the yellow diamond, holding it close to her face, kissing it occasionally.

Right as Nightflame is going to suggest they get going again, because honestly, she _really_ doesn’t feel like waiting for the angry gangsters, the doors to the warehouse freeze solid. The temperature inside drops noticeably and Nightflame can see her breath as she quietly lets out a curse.

“Fuck.”

A moment later, the doors burst open and a harsh, icy gust of wind hits them both square in the chest. In walks the Black Blizzard, strutting like the ice queen she is, a frown on her face. Nightflame turns around to Werewolf quickly.

“Give me the diamond,” she hisses urgently. Werewolf tosses it to her without question, and Nightflame pushes it back into her pocket. Then she plasters on the nicest smile she can manage and turns around. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence!” The Blizzard scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“I should have known you were going to try to steal the DeBeers diamond,” she replies coolly. “It bears a striking resemblance to the size of your brain.” Nightflame starts fuming. The diamond, about as big as her phone, shifts in her pants pocket.

“It’s sure as hell bigger than your catch rate. How many times have you brought me in, again? I can never remember,” she retorts. The Blizzard’s eyes narrow behind the mask.

“You didn’t think I’d let anyone get away with that, right?” she says. “It’s Indian heritage. It doesn’t belong in the hands of shady criminals like yourselves.”

“And why not?” Nightflame responds with a grin. “Don’t think yellow’s my color? Or maybe you’re just jealous because you’re so _good_ and _holy_ and never get to keep any of the spoils for yourself.”

“You have the rhetoric of a child, Nightflame,” Black Blizzard says, indifferent. “I’m not _jealous_ of your lifestyle choices. I abhor them. They’re a true testament to your inability of finding an honest occupation.” Her eyes slide from Nightflame to Werewolf, and back again. “Whoever is behind that mask is a coward.”

That does it for Nightflame. Gritting her teeth, she flies forward; half running and half being carried by her flames. When she reaches the Blizzard, she jumps up, raises her arms and creates a wall of fire by throwing them down. Blizzard jumps away, though, her arms raising immediately to counter the attack with two beams of ice. Nightflame brings up her glowing hands just before they hit, then evaporate. A glance over her shoulder tells Nightflame that Werewolf has fled the warehouse; a wise decision on the part of her fellow criminal. Nightflame and the Black Blizzard are natural enemies, evenly matched in every scenario. Anyone interfering is essentially writing their own death sentence. Knowing that it’s now safe to go all out, Nightflame punches a series of rapid, fiery bursts at the Blizzard. She dodges by jumping up and countering; freezing Nightflame’s feet to the floor. Nightflame curses and starts heating up the ice as Black Blizzard is literally making it hail on her. The stream is a constant on her back and the continuous tiny impacts feel like she’s being hit by a barrage of bullets. She is going to be so sore after this.

“I still don’t get it,” she yells over the clattering hail as she breaks loose from the ice, turns around and starts returning fire, literally. “Why do you even care? You could be sipping an eternally cold Mai Tai on a beach somewhere, instead you’re getting burned over a yellow rock.” Just then, she actually hits the Blizzard in the shoulder, nicely accentuating her statement.

“I don’t care about that stupid diamond,” the Blizzard spits out as she recovers from doubling over, her arm cradling her shoulder. Nightflame doesn’t feel guilty about it in the slightest. “I don’t care about you, either. I only care about justice.” They’ve hit an unexpected pause in their fight after near-continuous bursts of fire and ice. Nightflame crosses her arms defiantly.

“If you like justice, you’re gonna love what we did to the boys on that ship,” she says with a smirk. The Blizzard honest-to-God growls.

“That’s not _justice_ , you imbecile,” she scolds. “That is ignorant _vigilance_. Judging and punishing criminals according to your own, twisted version of justice makes you no better than one.” The Blizzard drops the arm that was holding her shoulder, and sticks out her hand expectantly. “Now, are you going to give me that diamond or am I going to have to pull it from your frozen fingers?”

“You will never be able to freeze me, ice queen,” Nightflame counters, turning on her heel and gearing up for a great escape. “I’m way too _hot_! Ha!” The words have only just left her mouth when she jumps up, aided by her fire, and punches a hole in the roof of the warehouse when she flies through it.

One of Black Blizzard’s more charming attributes is the way she always lets out a string of curses when Nightflame manages to escape. Sometimes she goes after her and sometimes she doesn’t, but Nightflame always hears her mutter _“fuck_ ” or “ _God damn it_ ” or another variation of that. One time, during a particularly crafty escape on Nightflame’s part, she’d even had some Spanish thrown at her. Of course there is always an expensive object or money or whatever, but having Boston’s most powerful super hero actually _curse_ at her is its own brand of rewarding. This time is no different from all the other times, because Nightflame hears her say “ _shit_ ” and shoot off into the sky, right behind her. That means her window is small. Nightflame lands on the roof of the warehouse, turns around quickly and shoots fire at the Blizzard just as she speeds through the opening. It’s a direct hit. Nightflame pushes away the urge to stay and see how the hero is doing, instead using the opening to take off again and flee.

***

She makes sure to get the hell out of dodge when the police start arriving on the scene. From the warehouse, she’d flown to the road leading back into town, eager to get away from the Blizzard and any mobster still out there. When she’s absolutely sure she’s out of sight and there is no one following her, Emma rips off her mask and pushes it in her backpack, alongside her red leather jacket. She pulls out a more inconspicuous grey hoodie and shrugs it on. Her hands are buried in her pockets, fist closed carefully around the yellow diamond Emma honestly still can’t believe is now in her possession. It’s bad. It’s _really_ bad.

If Emma had learnt anything from being a criminal, it’s that she’s survived this long because of two reasons. One is her powers, because the only person she has met with ones as powerful as hers is the Black Blizzard who, honestly, might have developed a soft spot for her with how many times she allows Emma to slip away. Her fire saves her from all kinds of binds, all the time. It helps, but what is also instrumental is that she never, _ever_ , gets involved with mob or gang business. Until tonight.

The diamond is obviously worth millions, if not billions, _if not trillions_. The sirens are still blaring somewhere behind her and Emma can feel her palms getting sweaty as her freak-out is starting to really take off. The mafia is going to come after her. They are going to do anything in their power to track her down, and make her pay. It helps that they only know the mask, the jacket and the fire, except it doesn’t really help because no one _ever_ keeps quiet after seeing her. One incident in particular that Emma recalls is when she had accidentally saved a nest of baby birds from a tree she had accidentally set on fire; the papers couldn’t get enough of painting her as soft and implying that she actually cared about anything other than whatever she had stolen that time. Every encounter with the Black Blizzard makes the news, too; front page depending on whatever Nightflame had gotten away with, or had been prevented from getting away with, or the scale of destruction their fighting had caused. Lately she’s actively trying to keep the damages to a minimum, however; being spit out by the public for destroying the city happens rarely anymore.

She’s going to have to lay low for at least a month. Maybe even longer, Emma thinks. Maybe she should give up her life of crime once and for all—selling the diamond would most likely mean she’d never have to work or steal a day in her life for the remainder of it, anymore. Emma bites her lower lip as her mind goes back and forth between selling the diamond, not selling the diamond because it could lead people to her, giving it to the police anonymously, or not anonymously so people like the Blizzard would stop getting on her case for being bad, or even doing nothing at all and just throwing the damn thing into the ocean. She’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t hear a familiar car pull up to where she’s walking.

“Miss Swan, long time no see.” Regina’s voice shakes Emma from her reverie and she turns to the car. Sure enough, there is Regina; looking smug and self-assured as ever.

“Regina, hey,” Emma answers. She never expected to meet Regina again, least of all _here_ , an abandoned road coming from the harbor at close to one in the morning.

“Why does it not surprise me to see you out and about at this hour,” Regina says. “Do you even have a house?” Emma can’t stop the eye roll that comment induces.

“I do, thank you very much. I’m just heading back there. I work as a bartender,” she says, in lieu of an explanation. It’s a lousy excuse seeing as there aren’t any bars even remotely close to the industrial part of town where they are now, but it’s late and Emma is still stressed out so she doesn’t really care what she tells this woman, who is still close to a complete stranger to her. Regina seems to accept it, though.

“Do you need a lift home?” she asks, and Emma stares at her, equal parts surprise and confusion. Regina looks a little confused herself at actually having asked the question, but seems to shake herself out of it before she continues. “It’s the dead of night,” she says. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. I might not like you, Miss Swan, but I have no desire to see you dead in a ditch when morning comes, either.” This brings a grin to Emma’s face. Seems like under that tough interior, Regina did have a heart.

“You sure your leather seats can handle it?” she asks, because despite how nice Regina’s being, it’s still so much fun to tease her. Regina merely rolls her eyes and opens the door to the passenger side.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she warns as Emma drops down onto the seat.

“I won’t. Ah, Just as comfortable as I remember,” she sighs with a grin, deliberately sliding down the seat a little. Regina scowls, but doesn’t say anything as she drives away.

***

The thing Emma loves about Mary Margaret is that she never asks questions. Not when there’s another pair of dirty, ripped jeans with blood stains in her laundry, or her red leather jacket that is miraculously still in one piece, or when Emma gets a bit too defensive of the super criminal Nightflame at breakfast. Not when she gets home at five in the morning on a Tuesday, because though she tells everyone she works nights in a bar, even Mary Margaret has to know the majority of them close at two on weekdays. Not even when she gets hurt, and Mary Margaret is there to patch her up, softly chiding her about her ‘clumsiness’ as she dabs at the wounds. All in all Mary Margaret is a great roommate, who never really questions anything Emma does.

That’s what makes it so surprising when she asks where Emma is going when she steps out their front door, the day after their diamond heist at the docks.

“I’m just going to meet Ruby,” Emma answers in all honesty. “We’re going to see her grandmother.” Mary Margaret is still looking at her, observing and paying attention to her in a way she usually never does. It makes Emma fidget with the cuffs of her leather jacket ( _not_ the red one). “Why, is that a problem?”

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right, Emma?” Mary Margaret says seriously. Emma nods. “Even about things that you’re keeping a secret for the whole world,” she continues, and Emma knows what’s coming. She’s about to get outed as a super-powered criminal. “Emma, what I’m trying to say is… it’s okay if you like girls. You know me, I don’t judge people like that, I want you to know that I’m here for you and your secret is safe with me.” Emma is absurdly taken aback.

“What? No, I know, Mary Margaret,” she answers, still kind of reeling from the whiplash Mary Margaret has just given her. “What makes you say all that?” Mary Margaret sighs.

“Well, you’ve been spending so much time with Ruby lately… You’re both my friends and you wear so much flannel and I just wanted to be supportive,” she rambles.

“Look, MM,” Emma says, a small grin appearing on her face, “I love you, but you’re so wrong on this one. There is nothing between Ruby and me.” Mary Margaret is returning her smile and Emma knows she isn’t imagining the relief she can see in it. “Except for a mutual bad influence, that is.”

“Okay,” Mary Margaret breathes, suddenly looking way more relaxed.

“Okay,” Emma echoes. “Anyway, I better go.” Mary Margaret shoots her another smile and then she’s off to meet Ruby.

The cottage isn’t really out of the city, but it’s surrounded by enough tall trees and empty land to make it appear so. Ruby’s grandmother is a sturdy woman, tough in everything she does, apron and crossbow both never far from her hand. She is also, Emma learns that afternoon, an expert in diamonds and other valuable goods.

“This actually explains a lot,” she says while Granny is perched over the yellow diamond with an actual monocle, studying it. “You know, how you got into this business and all.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ruby grins. “I learnt from the best.”

“I don’t know where you kids got this thing,” Granny finally says, leaning back in her chair, “but I’m pretty sure this is the biggest missing diamond from the Patiala necklace. Black Blizzard called it the ‘DeBeers’, did she?” Emma nods. “Then I’m certain. You’ve got an invaluable diamond on your hands here.”

“’Invaluable’?” Ruby asks. “Are you sure?” Granny shakes her head.

“Well, not entirely, of course,” she says. “Everything in this world has a price. But I need you to know you could lose your lives over this, so yes, that makes it _invaluable_.” She’s looking meaningfully at Ruby when she says this. Then she turns to Emma and hands her the big, yellow diamond. “Take this. Get rid of it if you have to. I will not have it near my granddaughter.” Ruby’s eyes widen like Emma’s do as she nods. Her concern about the dangers of having the diamond in her possession are being multiplied at Granny’s warning. It’s a much bigger deal than she and Ruby had initially thought.

“Sure thing,” Emma answers weakly, doubt laying on her stomach like a stone, as her hand tightens around the diamond.

She doesn’t get rid of it. Not yet, anyway. When Emma gets home, the first thing she does is googling the Patiala necklace. It’s Indian, like the Blizzard said, and all the accounts of the biggest, yellow diamond of the bunch confirm what Emma already knows: it’s the DeBeers, the seventh or eighth largest diamond _ever discovered_ depending on who you ask, and it’s in the possession of a fire controlling criminal in Boston. It’s exactly what she tells Ruby when she calls, later that night.

“It’s crazy,” Emma says, another freak-out on the horizon. “It’s all completely crazy. It’s in the _top ten biggest diamonds_ , Rubes.”

“Are you kidding me Emma?” Ruby’s voice sounds over the line. “This is the best thing we’ve ever stolen. And we got _away_ with it. Don’t you see? That makes us the most accomplished criminals in all of Boston! We’re going to be _famous_!” Ruby is not taking this nearly as serious as Emma is, like she _should_.

“Our lives are in danger, Ruby!” she hisses. “People are going to come after us. Things like this don’t just get stolen without anyone wanting it back.”

“Yeah, yeah, calm down, Swan. We don’t wear the masks for fun, do we?” Ruby answers carelessly. Emma rolls her eyes.

“Just make sure you lay low for a while, okay? Listen to your grandmother. Screw this diamond, I know for a fact Mary Margaret would be inconsolable if you lost your life over some stupid stone.”

“Mary Margaret?” Ruby asks hesitantly, and Emma has to stop herself from rolling her eyes again. Apparently, her partner in crime is just as clueless as her roommate.

“ _Yes_ , Mary Margaret. She loves you, you know? You can’t do that to her.” Ruby stays silent, so Emma assumes she’s gotten her point across. “Anyway, just… stay inside for a while. At least until I know what to do with this thing,” she says.

“Will do, boss,” Ruby answers.

***

Despite knowing how unsafe it is on the streets for her right now, Nightflame still goes out a couple of days later. She’s steadily running out of money again and her inability to make a final decision about the diamond means that that stealing it didn’t actually bring in any new cash for her, either. It should come as no surprise that Black Blizzard manages to find her again, too.

“Don’t you ever take the night off?” Nightflame asks exasperatedly as she’s lounging on the edge of a skyscraper, swinging her feet back and forth carelessly. A couple of floors down are the offices of a multinational company, from which she has just stolen some data that will bring in a decent amount of money on the black market. She can hear Black Blizzard walk up to her, but doesn’t move. The Blizzard is welcome to push her off the building. It’s not like she would _die_.

“Not if you don’t,” the Blizzard answers. “Trust me, I would much rather be at home, opening a bottle of Merlot. But alas, you’ve decided to break the law again.” Nightflame turns around to smirk at the Blizzard.

“Yeah, well. Gotta pay my bills one way or the other, right?”

“Right. If only you’d choose ‘the other’ way for a change.” Nightflame turns away from the Blizzard again, staring at the lights of the city. The view is so beautiful from up here.

“You can relax now, though,” she starts, with a sudden confidence that probably would have been crushed if she’d been looking at Black Blizzard and her scary, discouraging glare. Or maybe it’s the knowledge of her impending assassination by gangsters. She pats the concrete next to her. “Come here, sit down. I don’t have any wine, but just look at these lights. I bet you don’t see this every day.”

“I don’t,” the Blizzard answers. “If not for you, I wouldn’t have been up here at all, of course.” Then, to Nightflame’s surprise, she lowers herself to the edge and swings her legs down.

“Not scared of heights, then?” Nightflame teases.

“What is there to be scared of,” the Blizzard scoffs, “you, pushing me off? Please.”

“Nah,” Nightflame answers. “I’ve done my share of crime for tonight. Look, you can see my house from up here! Wow.” She leans forward and squints. “Look, right there.” Pointing it out with her finger, she turns around to the Blizzard, who seems unimpressed.

“You do realize you’re compromising your entire secret identity here, don’t you?” she says dryly. Nightflame shrugs as she shoots her nemesis a smirk.

“That’s okay. Mob’s all over my ass about that stupid diamond anyway. I’ll be surprised if I actually make it to the end of the month.” The soft look with which Black Blizzard has been regarding her sharpens.

“Have you been threatened?” she asks.

“Not yet, but it’s bound to happen soon.” Nightflame turns her gaze back to the city lights. “Why, it’s not like you’d care. At least I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Nightflame. Just because I don’t want you to steal from people doesn’t mean I want you _dead_ ,” the Blizzard says, with something in her voice that sounds an awful lot like compassion.

“So, you _like_ fighting with me, huh? I knew it!” Nightflame replies with a grin. It’s somewhat uneasy, because the Blizzard did just admit something an arch nemesis should never admit: she doesn’t want her dead, probably doesn’t even want to see her get hurt. Stupid goody two-shoes superheroes. Isn’t the prospect of fighting to the death an essential part of what makes their fights so thrilling?

“I do like fighting you,” she answers, and Nightflame is surprised at the lack of mocking that the ice queen usually directs at her. “You’re an easy win.” Never mind, there it is.

“Hey!” Nightflame exclaims, offended. “When have you ever beaten me? Like, _actually_ beaten me.” The Blizzard’s eyes are dark and unreadable under the mask.

“You running away with your tail between your legs is a win in my book,” she says, which is enough said on that subject. Nightflame could have argued with the hero all night if she wanted to and she would have, but she’s both kind of tired and in perpetual danger now, so she gives up on their bickering and becomes daring in a totally different area. With a sigh, she leans a little to the side, letting her shoulder touch the Blizzard’s, resting her weight slightly against the other woman. Black Blizzard stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. “Why don’t you give the diamond to the police?” is what she says. “They’ll stop chasing you, and target them instead.”

“Yeah, putting other people in danger is not really my thing,” Nightflame huffs. “It’s okay. It’s not like I have a family to get back to after… you know. All this.” She gestures at the rooftop around them. The Blizzard is looking at her with something akin to concern and it’s making Nightflame’s skin crawl a little. It’s like they’re in an alternative reality where Black Blizzard cares about her, instead of wanting to freeze her body until it breaks. It’s suffocating Nightflame despite the clear, cold air of the night, and she gets to her feet. “I should get going,” she mutters.

“I’ll let you,” Black Blizzard says, “if you hand over the backpack.” Right, the backpack with the stolen data. Nightflame rolls her eyes. Some things never change.

“Come and get it,” she says as she jumps off the edge, but it’s devoid of her usual bravado when she runs from the Blizzard, and the wind hitting her face doesn’t feel as freeing as it normally does. Maybe she’s really living in an a different reality, because Black Blizzard, the hero with the biggest potty mouth Nightflame has ever come across, stays silent.

***

The big, yellow, 234.65 carat diamond gleams bright in the sunlight.

“Emma, where did you get this? It’s so pretty!” Emma winces as she hears Mary Margaret fuss over the priceless Indian artifact that’s sitting on a windowsill in their living room. _Shit_.

“Uh, just bought it off one of those people who sell things on the street,” Emma says as she enters the room. “It’s a fake.” It’s probably the flimsiest excuse she has ever given Mary Margaret, if the unbelieving look on her roommate’s face is anything to go by, and Emma winces a second time. She quickly grabs the diamond from where it’s sitting on the window sill, stuffing it in the back pocket of her jeans as she moves to the kitchen and pours herself some coffee.

It’s been a week since the Diamond Incident, which is what Emma has started calling it in her head, which means it is simultaneously been a week since Regina turned up out of the blue and offered her a ride. Despite everything life-threatening that’s been going on with her lately, it’s the one thing Emma has not been able to stop thinking about. Maybe it’s the soft leather seats, or maybe it’s the fact that Regina seems to be nothing at all like the alpha bitch she presents herself as. Either way, Emma is determined to meet her again and find out more.

It’s only when she actually calls Regina that Emma realizes she has no motive, no good reason at all to be meeting Regina again.

“Hey! I wanted to, uh,” she starts, phone in one hand while the other is fiddling with the diamond, “I wanted to thank you? For driving me home the other night. Figured we could go out for drinks, or something. Whatever you want.” Regina stays silent for so long that Emma actually things she’s hung up, but then she answers.

“I suppose I could use the distraction.” Then, in true Regina fashion, she tells Emma a time and a place and hangs up.

The bar is nothing like the dumps Emma frequents, but she has the feeling it’s still a step down from whatever fancy-pants Regina is used to, if the way she’s shifting on the bar stool is any indication.

“Hey,” she says with a smile as she slides on the stool next to Regina.

“Hello,” Regina answers. She seems a little unsure of herself in a way that’s very unlike the Regina that Emma has come to know, and sips her vodka martini in favor of saying anything else. Emma gestures the bartender for a beer and decides to carry the conversation on her own.

“So,” Emma starts, “what’s going on with you? Any more strangers sleep in your car recently?” Regina snorts and Emma smiles despite herself.

“Thank God, no.” Her gaze meets Emma’s. “You’re the only one having dared to try so far, Miss Swan.” Emma takes a swig of her beer.

“Come on, we’re drinking buddies now,” she says, “would it kill you to call me ‘Emma’?”

“Perhaps not,” Regina answers, before taking another sip. Another silence descends upon them and Emma squirms a little before switching to another topic.

“So when you said you could use the distraction, what did you mean?” Emma asks. “If not from any stragglers sleeping in your car.” She looks at Regina expectantly and waits with perfect patience while Regina musters up the words.

“I’ve been… having some problems with my son. He’s not even hit puberty yet but he’s already fighting everything I say or do.” She runs a hand through her hair, slightly ruining its perfection, and Emma thinks this is the most human she’s ever seen Regina; it’s enthralling. “He seems convinced that I somehow have super powers, and that I’m some sort of _criminal_.” Regina huffs out a laugh and Emma pauses. Is that sensation swirling in her stomach… pride?

“Wait—your kid thinks you’re Nightflame?”

“I’m afraid so,” Regina answers, fingers fidgeting with the stem of her empty martini glass. “I’m away a lot for work, lately, and he’s not been taking it well. Somehow, he’s become absolutely sure that I am somehow responsible for stealing people’s savings, possessions, even that ridiculous diamond that _vigilante_ stole from the harbor. It’s ridiculous, but I seem to be completely helpless in changing his mind.” Emma is about to comfort Regina, because it sounds like her son actually _hates_ her, but her stubborn mind is still stuck on the way Regina had all but spit out the word ‘vigilante’.

“I know some people who would be thrilled if Nightflame was their mom,” Emma says, a little hesitantly. Regina’s gaze darkens.

“I can’t imagine why,” she says, while gesturing the bartender for another drink. “Despite the grief my son’s overactive imagination is causing me, I can’t help but agree with his assessment of that hooligan.”

“Some people consider her something of a hero, though,” Emma responds. It’s a risk, she knows, to defend her alter ego blatantly like this; but she’s annoyed with the bad rep she always seems to get, even from a woman who has every reason to hate Nightflame.

“Right, the incessant Robin Hood narrative,” Regina says as she rolls her eyes. “It’s not entirely justified when she only ever seems to steal from the rich, keeping it all to herself afterwards, wouldn’t you say?” Emma bites her lower lip.

“Who’s to say she doesn’t donate it to charity?” she counters. Nightflame does occasionally give to charity, but the problem with that is that it’s always in the name of one Emma Swan.

“Who’s to say she does?” Regina replies. She swirls the drink in her glass before bringing it to her mouth again. “It doesn’t matter, either way. I just wish she’d disappear, wreak havoc on the west coast so Henry can’t doubt my whereabouts, anymore.” Emma nods and finishes her beer.

“Maybe Nightflame will clean up her act,” she says, despite how laughable it sounds. “That way your son might not mind. For as long as he still thinks you’re her, I mean.” Regina’s dark eyes meet her own again, and Emma falls silent at the resignation she sees in them. Disregarding Regina’s closed off body language entirely, she reaches over and lays her hand on top of Regina’s.

“Maybe,” Regina answers. “But I’m not holding my breath. The only thing that’s going to resolve this fantasy of his is Nightflame behind lock and key.”

***

Her conversation with Regina has gotten Nightflame thinking. Perhaps her reputation could do with a bit of an improvement, a reassurance to the public that she isn’t there to harm them; only to redistribute their finances a little bit. The work she does is supposed to be for the greater good, after all.

She’s keeping to the shadows tonight, choosing to walk instead of flying like she usually does. Just the other night, Nightflame had been soaring through the sky, only to be shot at with semiautomatics and a bazooka. The mob’s getting restless, the longer it takes for them to find their precious yellow diamond. Nightflame is taking it all in stride, at this point—she had been feeling a little embarrassed about how morose she’d acted on that rooftop with Black Blizzard, because so what if she’s going to get killed? She still has a couple of perfectly good heists in her.

It’s been two weeks since the Diamond Incident, and Nightflame is busy melting through the ceiling of the First Republic Bank. According to her guestimates, she’s right above the vault, so this should be a quick in-and-out. Her plan works like a charm, and after a couple more minutes of melting, ten minutes of stashing crispy new bills in the off-brand sports bag she brought and another minute of setting the surveillance on fire, Nightflame is out of there.

The streets are dark, silent, and Boston is none the wiser. Nightflame whistles softly as she’s walking away from the bank, alongside the bay, the bag filled with cash slung casually over her shoulder. Now, what would be a good charity to give all of this to?  Maybe she should divide the loot over multiple organizations, really make the most of the money. Nightflame briefly wonders if they would accept the big amounts she’s planning on giving when they’re all in cash. Probably not, right? She should ask around with her contacts in the criminal circuit of the city for someone who can help her launder all of this. Preferably someone who’s not affiliated with the Baltic mob. Just at that moment, Nightflame notices two men across the street, suspicious-looking guys who have been looking at her a bit too long for their intentions to be innocent.

“Speak of the devil,” Nightflame mutters. She drops the bag and rubs her hands together, effectively heating them up. “Hey! You guys here about that diamond?” The men, seeing they’ve been found out, don’t hesitate in drawing their pistols and running towards her. “Too bad,” Nightflame continues with a grin. “I threw that ugly rock in the ocean.” One of the guys seethes at that and takes his aim, but Nightflame is quicker and grips his pistol by the barrel, melting it down before the man can even pull the trigger. Nightflame tugs the gun out of his hands and hits him in the face with the grip. Then she turns around to the other man, who’s standing a sensible ten feet away, gun drawn and currently aiming at Nightflame’s chest. “Look man,” she says, slowly lifting her hands, “I don’t know what to tell you. You should sell that gun and buy a snorkel, because I threw it in the ocean.”

“Bullshit,” the guy answers. “You’re not _that_ stupid. Now turn around.” Nightflame rolls her eyes and does as the man says. Her superpowers are great for attacking people and breaking into places, but are absolutely useless in defending her from things like bullets. She feels the barrel of the gun press into her lower back as the man grabs one of her hands and pulls it down. Nightflame grits her teeth, but holds her arms still as she lets the man bind her hands together behind her back. “You’re coming with me,” he says as he turns her back around. Nightflame grins as the man holsters his pistol and grabs her upper arm.

“Keep dreaming,” she says with a smile. He really should have known that a measly zip tie is never going to hold someone with fire in their hands. The man is still looking at her funny as she punches him in the face with a fiery fist and sends him flying into the water of the bay. Nightflame dusts off her hands and returns to the sports bag with the cash, lying abandoned on the side of the road.

In the end, Nightflame decides to cut out any potential money laundering middle man and divides the cash, leaving equal parts of it at various animal shelters, neighborhood centers in the worse parts of town and Boston’s Children’s Hospital. She makes sure to include notes saying ‘xxx Nightflame :)’ at each of the drops.

***

‘Nightflame: Robin Hood or Robbin’ Hoodlum?’ reads the front page of the Boston Herald the next morning. Emma sips her coffee contentedly while Mary Margaret is busy skimming the article.

“It seems like she’s really turning over a new leaf,” Mary Margaret says. “Well, of course she’s still stealing, but…”

“But it’s for the good of the city?” Emma tries. Mary Margaret smiles.

“Exactly!” she answers. “It’s progress, at least.” Emma agrees wholeheartedly and is feeling good about herself in a way that makes her want to call Regina again. She’s curious about what Regina’s son thinks of Nightflame now, and she would be lying to herself if she didn’t just want to talk to Regina again, too.

“Hey,” Emma says as soon as Regina picks up, “did you hear about Nightflame?”

“She robbed the First Republic Bank, yes, I heard,” Regina answers, sounding entirely unimpressed, as per usual. Emma grimaces.

“That’s not all though, she gave everything she stole away again!” she counters. “Like an _actual_ Robin Hood.”

“Yes, making the process of retrieving the stolen money an even more difficult process,” Regina drawls from the other side. “I don’t know if I would call this an improvement, Miss Swan.” Emma sighs.

“So what does your son make of all this?”

“He seems to be a bit unsure about the morality of it all,” Regina answers. “Of course stealing is still considered wrong, but Nightflame is helping others, now.”

“Does that mean he’s being nicer to you?” Emma asks.

“No. I’m afraid he’s still under the impression that I was the one behind the heist, and giving the money away is all part of my ‘evil ploy’ to get him to _like_ me again.” Regina scoffs, expressing how ridiculous her son’s fantasies are, but Emma can hear the resignation in her voice.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Emma says, because she doesn’t know how else to answer that. The line stays silent for the moment it takes Regina to answer.

“Thank you for your sympathy, Miss Swan,” she says and Emma stills, because instead of following the heartfelt thank you with an insult or barb of some sort, Regina simply hangs up.

Mary Margaret calls it progress, but Emma still feels like Nightflame should do more. Though it seems a bit skewed to so actively change her alter ego’s image for the son of a women she’d only met a handful of times, Emma is convinced that Nightflame is an antihero; perfectly ready to do good as long as it fits her own motives. In particular, getting Regina’s son to stop hating on her and Nightflame.

Perhaps the angle shouldn’t be about what she does with what she steals, but simply about what she _does_. Emma can see how the abuse of power makes Nightflame seem like a selfish criminal whereas it makes Black Blizzard a selfless hero; it’s all in what they do with their powers.

It’s this realization that leads Emma to the shadiest corner of Boston she knows. She’s still in her normal clothing, but her trusted backpack with the mask and red leather jacket is on her back; ready for when something criminal happens and Nightflame can swoop in to save the day. The sun is starting to set and the shadows are getting longer. The perfect setting for breaking the law, Emma knows. Ignoring the risk of being spotted by the mob, especially in this part of town, Emma shrugs on her red jacket, puts on her mask and stuffs the hoodie she was wearing in the backpack. Now, the waiting begins.

***

Nightflame knows this part of town, the streets, the buildings, like the back of her hand. This had been her turf when she had just started out in the super criminal business, before bank heists and diamond robberies became the norm. Disregarding the reason why she’s out here tonight, Nightflame is feeling positively nostalgic.

She remembers lighting up these dark alleys with uncertain flames as she scared thugs into dropping their knives and giving her their wallets, or the rush that came with melting the lock on the door of the bodega on the corner in the middle of the night, sneaking in and getting herself some cash and a drink. The first car she ever hotwired had been parked right across the street from the rooftop Nightflame is now perched on. It had been Ruby that taught her. They were both kids with troubled pasts and they had found each other easily on Boston’s most shady streets.

Nightflame smiles, then chides herself for getting so caught up in reminiscing. She’s here with a mission: to stop crime, and to make sure Regina’s son sees her as the antihero she is, dammit. Luckily, she doesn’t even have to wait long.

There are several criminal organizations in Boston. Nightflame isn’t really acquainted with all of them, because she prefers to stay out of their way, but she’s met some. There’s Baltic mob, of course, and their invested interest in a particular diamond. Then there’s Werewolf and her granny, who with their expertise in anything even remotely criminal could be called an authority in Boston’s criminal circuit. There are also some gangs scattered over the city. There’s the Lennox Street Cardinals and their rivals, the Columbia Point Dawgs, or CPD. These are by far the biggest and Nightflame interacts with them on a sort-of regular basis, based on a mutual respect for their shared trade. Nightflame lets them deal their drugs and fight their fights, and in return they let her do her thing, too.

Nightflame grimaces. She is about to screw up that trust big time, with one of the two at least. Across the street, a boy who can’t be older than eighteen wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates cap is walking up to the corner. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. CPD, then, Nightflame thinks. After a couple of minutes, a gangly man walks up to the boy and they shake hands shortly. As soon as they let go and turn around to go their separate ways, Nightflame jumps off of the building she was perched on and lands next to the CPD boy.

“Hey kid,” she says. The boy stays rooted to the ground as he stares at her, eyes wide.

“Nightflame?” he asks, sounding excited.

“Uh, yeah,” Nightflame says. This is going to get really awkward, really fast. “Sorry kid, I’m gonna have to make a citizen’s arrest here. I just saw you dealing drugs.” The boy raises an eyebrow, entirely unimpressed.

“So?”

“So, that’s illegal. You can’t do that.”

“Okay,” the boy says, crossing his arms defiantly. “Then I’m making a citizen’s arrest too, because I saw you breaking in that bank near the waterfront once.”

“No way—which one?” Nightflame asks, before realizing— “Oh wait, shit.” She sighs and lets her head fall back. This ‘being good’ thing is already exhausting. “You know what? Never mind. I’m letting you go. As long as you make sure you’re not going to get in trouble.” The boy shoots her a smile.

“I’ll try,” he says, before stuffing his hands back in his pockets and walking away. Nightflame watches him disappear into the night, before walking down the street as well. She’s in full sight now, dressed unmistakably as Nightflame, but she doesn’t care. It might draw out the mob, but at this point that’s probably a good thing, so she can arrest a couple of them and show the city just how _good_ she is.

She’s subconsciously walking towards the neighborhood that’s known for being the Baltic’s turf, but when Nightflame notices her surroundings, she doesn’t stop. It was probably only a matter of time before it came down to this, anyway.

At this time of night, there is only one place suspicious mafia business takes place, so Nightflame finds the most suspicious looking abandoned warehouse in the area. It’s located close to the docks where the Diamond Incident had taken place, almost three weeks ago. The lights are on inside, and there are four men with semiautomatics and other nasty-looking weapons standing guard outside.

“Great,” Nightflame mutters. “More bullets.” She’s sitting on the edge of a neighboring warehouse, still weighing the pros and cons of a stealthy attack versus going in hands blazing when one of the men spots her. There goes her stealthy attack option. Nightflame jumps backward quickly, effectively getting out of his range, and rolls up her sleeves. Then she takes off, fire raging from her hands and feet, makes a graceful somersault in the air before dropping down through one of the windows on the roof. Fire engulfs her in her landing, and Nightflame has about half a second to take in her surroundings before the bullets start raining down and she has to find cover.

She’s squatting behind a car that looks broken down, a glance through its windows telling her what she has already seen during that split second after she landed. The warehouse is empty apart from the car Nightflame is hiding behind, a desk and a couple of long tables filled with science equipment. Nightflame was never good at chemistry in high school, but she knows a drugs lab when she sees one. There is a group of maybe ten people handling the equipment and walking around. They’re all wearing white mouth masks, with the exception of the man in the black Adidas tracksuit behind the desk, and the two goons who followed her inside. They’ve stopped shooting at her and instead seem content to wait patiently until she emerges from behind the car. Nightflame curses under her breath. She’s screwed up big time, now.

With a deep sigh, Nightflame relaxes her shoulders. She knows what she has to do: take out the guns. Careful not to make too much sound, Nightflame places her hands against the side of the car. She can do heat, she can do fire, so she can probably do explosions too, right? The two gunmen are walking up to the car and Nightflame can feel her palms getting sweaty. She has to wait a bit longer. They need to be close for this plan of hers to work. A moment, another one, and then Nightflame feels in her gut that it’s time. She channels her fire into her palms and lets it burst out, all at once. The car shoots backwards and hits the two men straight in the chest, then flies even further and crashes into the whole drugs lab setup.

“Whoops,” Nightflame says with a grimace. The man in the tracksuit is standing now, and has a revolver trained on her. Figures. “Hello,” she says as she walks up to him, “I’m here to make a citizen’s arrest. You’re coming with me, buddy.”

“Tell me where the diamond is or I will shoot you,” the man answers. Nightflame shrugs.

“I already told your guys that I threw it in the ocean, but no one ever listens to me,” she says, before throwing both of her fists forward. The man yelps and jumps out of the way of the barrage of flames, dropping his gun in the process. Nightflame steps forward and picks it up, before melting the barrel down. “Now, where were we?” she says.

Nightflame is securing the mobster’s hands behind is back with a zip tie when it starts snowing inside of the warehouse. The mouth-mask wearing people working in the drugs lab have already filtered out but Nightflame doesn’t really care about them, because this guy here is Juss Kaljurand, one of the lieutenants of the Baltic mob.

“Took you long enough,” she says as she turns around, and sure enough there is Black Blizzard, glaring at her. It’s a relief, because if she’s honest, Nightflame had been feeling a little on edge with how sympathetic the Blizzard had looked at her the last time.

“First you tell me the mob is after you and you disappear, then I find you actively interacting with them on their territory,” the Blizzard says accusingly as she crosses her arms. “Make up your mind, Nightflame.”

“Okay, look,” Nightflame starts, “I’m trying something new this week. I wanted to help the city without breaking the law, for once.” The Blizzard looks at her, unimpressed; just like the CPD kid that Nightflame encountered earlier in the night.

“This would still be considered breaking and entering, and considering the state those two are in…” The Blizzard pointedly looks at the two men, who are on the ground, unconscious between the rubble of the car and the drugs lab. “…aggravated assault, as well.” Nightflame rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to get it right on the first try, alright? Gimme a break, please.” She grabs Juss Kaljurand by the collar of his tracksuit and holds him up. “At least I got this guy.” The Blizzard nods, and it almost looks approvingly.

“That you did,” she says, then waits, as if considering something. “Good job.” Nightflame gasps in quasi-shock.

“What was that? Has the ice queen’s heart finally thawed?” she says dramatically, bringing up a hand to her chest to invigorate the performance. Black Blizzard rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know why you call me that, Nightflame,” she says. “My name as ‘Black Blizzard’ has been solidified in the media for years, now. Something _you_ certainly ought to know.”

“Maybe I just like giving you a nickname of my own, your majesty,” Nightflame responds, unable to keep the grin off her face. It only widens when she sees the tiniest smile on the Blizzard’s face, as well.

“That’s enough chitchat for now,” Black Blizzard answers, quickly pulling her face into a more neutral expression. “We need to bring Mr. Kaljurand here to the police.”

“Oh, right,” Nightflame answers. She had almost forgotten about the guy. Grabbing him by the collar again, she forcefully pulls him towards the exit. Excitement is swirling through her stomach at working _together_ with the Blizzard for once, instead of against her. Just as they are about to step out of the warehouse, however, armed men start flooding in. Nightflame is quick enough to grab Kaljurand and jump to the side, but she doesn’t know if the Blizzard is. After using her momentum to throw Kaljurand into a wall, Nightflame’s head whips around just fast enough to see the Blizzard erect a wall of ice, only to be blasted backwards by a bazooka, the force of the explosion throwing her through the wall of the warehouse and into the water of the harbor.

“Great,” Nightflame mutters, for the second time that night. “More bullets.

***

She leaves Juss in the warehouse in favor of going after the Blizzard. Three weeks ago, Nightflame would never have done this. But then again, three weeks ago Black Blizzard hadn’t looked at her like she cared, like she was going to miss Nightflame when the mob eventually caught up to her. And Emma had never had anyone look at her like that, not really.

Then there’s the other really scary thought that has been floating around her head recently. Nightflame has suspected about the Blizzard’s identity for a while now, but she’s never gotten any real clues out of the hero. That changed with Regina. There are exactly three clues that have Nightflame convinced that the woman might actually be the Black Blizzard.

  1. That ‘vigilante’ comment.



The most rational part of Nightflame’s brain keeps telling her that it’s just a coincidence, that there are bound to be more people who see her like that, that this isn’t a clue but just a figment of her over-egotistical imagination. But the way she said it just sounded _exactly_ like what the Blizzard had said, way back during the Diamond Incident. The words of the Blizzard: “That’s not _justice_ , you imbecile. That is ignorant _vigilance_.” The words of Regina: “Somehow, he’s become absolutely sure that I am somehow responsible for stealing people’s savings, possessions, even that ridiculous diamond that _vigilante_ stole from the harbor.” Trust Nightflame on this: it sounded _the same_.

  1. The fact that Regina always seems to show up right after Black Blizzard did.



This is something the Nightflame only started noticing recently. Okay, so it might have happened only two times: once was after the failed Federal Reserve heist. Emma had fallen asleep in Regina’s car in Regina’s neighborhood, then one night later when she had gone back there, the Blizzard had shown up almost immediately. The other was after the Diamond Incident. Emma might not have had a good reason to be all the way out by the docks that night, but it has since occurred to her that Regina didn’t, either. Unless she is in the habit of taking nightly drives in the shady, deserted parts of town?

  1. Her own son thinks she’s Nightflame.



It’s maybe the most convincing reason Nightflame has conjured up ever since the thought of Regina being the Blizzard crossed her mind. Henry, Regina’s son, spends the most amount of time around the woman, so he ought to know. She is obviously away enough for him to get suspicious. Emma believes Regina when she says it’s about work, but at the same time she doesn’t, because Nightflame and the Blizzard don’t exactly meet during business hours. It would be perfectly possible for Regina to sneak out at night, dressed head to toe in black with an accompanying mask. The kid might be convinced this means she’s Nightflame, but Nightflame obviously knows Regina isn’t Nightflame, so that only leaves one other option: Regina being Black Blizzard.

All of this ties into the surprising worry Nightflame feels at seeing her nemesis being hurled into the cold water of the harbor, and her speed in running after her. She has half a mind to jump into the water herself, regardless of the fact that the Blizzard is a grown woman and can definitely swim. Hopefully. The mobsters are quick to follow but Nightflame stops them with a fierce burst of blue flames, hotter than she knew she is even capable of. That seems to scare them off properly, in addition to setting the warehouse on fire, so Nightflame turns back to the water. She sees a dark figure emerge a couple yards away and she speeds towards it.

If their situation wasn’t so perilous, Nightflame would have laughed at the way Black Blizzard looks like a drowned cat.

“Hey, you okay?” she asks as she sticks out her hand. The Blizzard takes it somewhat reluctantly and Nightflame lifts her out of the bay easily.

“Peachy,” she sputters, a dark look crossing her masked features. Nightflame grimaces as the Blizzard turns over a crate and sits down on it, still dripping water everywhere.

“Right.” She puts her hand on the Blizzards shoulder. “Woah, okay, you’re _really_ cold,” Nightflame says, already shrugging off her red leather jacket and putting it around Blizzard’s shoulders. She turns her palms upwards and lets small, unsure flames flicker into life. “I could warm you up?” she offers, voice trailing up into a question. Because despite their rooftop conversation and the fact that she has just pulled Black Blizzard from the cold, murky depths of the harbor, they are still supposed to be enemies.

“If warming me up means setting me on fire, I’m not interested,” the Blizzard says dryly. Nightflame closes her hands into fists, effectively distinguishing the flames.

“Hey, I would never do that! I’m not a killer, you know,” she protests. “I only steal things. I thought you knew that by now. Here, look. I can do this, too.” Without waiting for the Blizzard’s approval, Nightflame gathers her hands in her own and starts channeling the eternal flame within her, letting it flow through her fingers, careful not to let the flames emerge. Black Blizzard’s hands feel cold, like the ice shot at Nightflame for more times than she can remember, at this point. “Wow, you’re still freezing,” Nightflame says worriedly. “Maybe we need to go to the ER, or get you some dry clothes, or something.” She releases Blizzard’s hands for a moment in order to pull the red jacket tighter around her shoulders, then slides her warm hands down the Blizzard’s arms. Nightflame hasn’t gotten a response from the other woman yet and when she looks at her, she’s regarded with a curious gaze, like the Blizzard is seeing something different in her than usual. “What?” Nightflame asks. Black Blizzard seems to shake it off before she speaks.

“Thank you for…” Her jaw clenches momentarily and if she’s about to say what Nightflame thinks she is, she understands. “Thank you for pulling me up from the water, Nightflame,” Blizzard eventually manages, looking a little distraught beneath her mask at having uttered those words to her arch nemesis. A tiny smile appears on Nightflame’s face.

“Hey, you’d do the same for me, right?” she says, while Blizzard’s eyes narrow.

“I’m not too sure, yet,” she answers airily, the corners of her mouth pulling up into a smirk at Nightflame’s shocked reaction. “Also, you can stop offering me clothes and feeling me up with those fire fingers of yours,” she continues as she removes Nightflame’s jacket from her shoulders and hands it back. “I’m naturally cold. Comes with the powers, as I’m sure you understand.” Nightflame nods silently and slips her jacket back on, stilling momentarily when she smells the tiniest bit of the Blizzard on it.

“You’re okay to go home though?” Nightflame says, because she can’t help herself. “I mean—you’re probably still supposed to arrest me for all those things I did, so I should get out of here, but I’m not leaving you if you really need my help, because like I said I—”

“Go,” Black Blizzard interrupts, holding up one hand to stop Nightflame from rambling on. “I’m fine. Or did you forget all those times you knocked me into buildings, bridges and other architectural structures?” Nightflame bites her lip and looks away. “Well?” The Blizzard leans forward and looks her right in the eyes. Their faces are so close now it’s like their masks have fallen away, and Nightflame can feel her heart beating in her throat at the unexpected intimacy of it. “Or do I need to start chasing you?” Black Blizzard says it with a smirk, close enough to either kiss her or headbutt her in the face. It’s exhilarating and Nightflame grins back.

“A chase sounds lovely, actually,” she teases, slowly standing back up. In a bold move, she holds out her hand for the Blizzard to take. “I could use the exercise.” The Blizzard is looking at her with calculating eyes, but goes for Nightflame’s hand regardless. Nightflame is feeling giddy for no real reason at all, and then her legs are being swept away from under her and she’s hitting the ground, ass first. Before she knows it her instincts have kicked in and she’s already moving, a fiery burst from her palms propelling her upwards. She’s able to get a kick in as she flies past the Black Blizzard, a feat that feels all the more satisfying when she hears the hero blurt out a silent _“fuck!”_

Looks like they’re back to normal, then.

***

When Emma goes home after that debacle in the Baltic mob’s drugs lab warehouse, it’s only to pick up a certain yellow nuisance. Despite the protection her secret identity grants her, she doesn’t feel like it’s safe to keep it here; especially with Mary Margaret so blissfully unaware and asleep. It’s better to stay outside as Nightflame, so she can protect herself and not worry about any consequences.

Nightflame is sitting in a park that’s abandoned this time of night, twirling the diamond between her fingers. Even with the absence of the sun, it shines, and Nightflame sighs. She still doesn’t know what the hell she’s supposed to do with it. Getting rid of it would be the most obvious solution, but… she stole this fair and square. Nightflame can almost hear the Blizzard’s voice. Damn you and your insufferable pride.

“Hey, you!” a voice suddenly yells, disrupting the early morning quiet. Nightflame looks up and sees the Columbia Point kid from earlier that night.

“Hey kid,” she says with a grin, “come to arrest me again?” The boy doesn’t smile back. Instead, he frowns and pulls out a gun.

“Not this time, Nightflame,” he says. “Word on the street is you have a diamond. A very valuable diamond.”

“The word you’re looking for is _invaluable_ ,” Nightflame answers as she holds up the diamond in question for him to see. “Trust me, I had it verified by a professional.”

“Right,” the kid says as he comes closer, holding up his weapon threateningly. “Still. Everything has a price. Hand it over.” Nightflame narrows her eyes, then tosses the diamond up high. The kid’s eyes follow the diamond as it flies through the air and Nightflame strikes; punching him in the face hard, but with no real heat. The boy hits the ground at the same time the diamond lands in Nightflame’s hand.

“Sorry kid,” she says as she puts the gun under his limp body, making sure it’s out of sight.

The fact that word about Nightflame’s involvement with this diamond has reached even the low level drug dealers from the street gangs is bad. _Very_ bad. It basically means that it’s a free-for-all, now; not just the Baltic mafia, but every criminal in the city will come after her once they see her. Nightflame frowns as she walks away from the park.

She decides to watch the sun rise over the harbor. The masts on the sailing boats sway gently in the breeze as they’re bathed in the soft, yellow light of the morning. Nightflame sighs. Even if she’s getting killed soon, at least she has this. Her feet swing back and forth from where she’s sitting on the edge of a building and Nightflame can feel her fire inside react to the rays of sunlight that are hitting her skin.

“Nightflame,” someone says. Nightflame lets her head fall backwards. There, standing upside down, she sees a familiar tracksuit.

“Juss,” she answers. “Didn’t I throw you into a wall?”

“You did,” he answers calmly, and Nightflame notices the cast around his left arm. Then, she notices the men standing behind Juss Kaljurand on the roof. “I’m here to offer you a choice.” Nightflame turns back to the sunrise.

“Okay,” she says. “What are you offering?”

“Either you don’t give us the diamond and we’ll kill you, slowly and painfully,” Juss says, “or you give us the diamond and we’ll kill you quickly. You won’t feel a thing.”

“I’m sorry, Juss,” Nightflame says as she rises to her feet, which is followed by the sound of a dozen guns being locked in and aimed at her. “I threw that thing in the ocean. Right about… there.” She points at a spot somewhere at the horizon for good measure. “Okay, if that was all, uh, I gotta run.” Without waiting for Kaljurand to say anything else, Nightflame takes off. Immediately, bullets are soaring past her and Nightflame grimaces. When she thinks she’s almost out of their reach, she feels a sudden, burning sensation in her left calf followed by another one in her lower back. “Ah, _fuck_ ,” she spits out through gritted teeth, faltering a bit in her flying.

It’s an unconscious effort, which is probably for the best, because if Nightflame was fully aware of what she’s doing right now, she might have stopped and let herself bleed out on the side of the street instead. She can only hope that the balcony she chose to land on is Regina’s, because her head is getting a little hazy and she can’t totally remember what Regina’s business card said apart from her name, ‘Regina Mills’ in swirly, elegant letters. There are a couple of plants sitting on the balcony and Nightflame tries not to bleed on them too much as she slumps against the railing, facing the door. She’s feeling exhausted after running around the entire night and getting _shot_ , no less, and all she wants right now is rest. But she needs to alert Regina too, so with her last amount of strength, Nightflame pounds on the glass door, before closing her eyes and collapsing.

***

A soft voice eventually wakes her up. “Who are you and what are you doing, sleeping on our balcony?” Emma blinks a couple of times as she takes in the boy, who can’t be older than eleven and is currently staring at her suspiciously.

“I’m Nightflame,” she answers, grimacing against the pain that is suddenly back in full force. The sun is sitting a little higher in the sky now, but not by much, so she can’t have been asleep for long.

“No you’re not,” the boy answers with a scowl and narrowed eyes. He looks so much like Regina that Emma can’t help but breathe out in relief. She’s found the right balcony after all.

“Yeah, I am,” she says and lets a couple of small flames dance around her fingertips as proof. The boy seems stunned for a second.

“How did you get up here?” he asks.

“I flew,” Emma answers. “Say, you’re Henry, right?”

“Yes,” the boy nods. “I hope Black Blizzard comes. Since you broke the law again.” Emma’s brow furrows under her mask.

“What? No, I didn’t! Last time I checked, there’s no law against _flying_.”

“There is,” the boy answers with a nod. “The law of gravity.” Emma huffs out a laugh, wincing immediately at the pain the movement causes.

“Look, kid,” she says, “you’re funny, but right now I really need to see your mom. Can you get her for me?” The boy eyes her warily for a moment, then turns around and goes back inside. He locks the door after he pulls it shut and Emma rolls her eyes again. She tries to take off her jacket, but the pain in her lower back is so intense that she can’t really move, so she just takes off her mask instead. Regina comes out a second later.

“Emma?” she asks, looking at her with a mixture of surprise and worry, and Emma grins at the absence of the usual ‘Miss Swan’.

“Hey,” she answers. “Look, this is probably not a good time for you, but I’m kinda dying here. So,” she gestures to herself, “I’m Nightflame. You’re the Blizzard. Let’s not pretend anymore, okay?” Regina is stunned into silence and Emma chuckles, then lets out a string of curses at the pain. That seems to snap Regina out of it and she’s crouched next to her immediately.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” she hisses and as Emma closes her eyes, she can hear the Blizzard’s voice, unmistakably. How had she not figured this out before? “Getting shot and bleeding out over that _stupid diamond_. I can’t believe you managed figured out my identity when you’re so...” She trails off. Her hands are cold, cooling Emma’s wounds with featherlight touches and Emma sighs in relief. The pain is reduced to a mild throbbing now, so she tries to sit up. Regina’s hands are on her shoulders immediately. “We need to get you to a hospital,” she says.

“No, no hospitals,” Emma whispers. “Call Ruby. Bring me to Granny. She knows how to take care of gunshot wounds.” Regina shoots her an incredulous look but digs into Emma’s pockets regardless, pulling out her phone and finding the diamond, as well.

“You keep this on you? No wonder you got shot,” Regina mutters as she dials Ruby’s number, pushing the diamond back into the pockets of the leather jacket. Emma rolls her eyes again.

“I was keeping my roommate safe. You’re not the only one with a double life, you know.”

“Right,” Regina answers. Then Ruby picks up and she starts talking rapidly, too fast for Emma to follow in her current state, so she closes her eyes again, Regina’s hand cool and reassuring on her shoulder.

The trip to Granny happens in a blur. Emma’s awareness slips from time to time, so she knows she’s just been bleeding out all over Regina’s leather seats, but she doesn’t remember how she got there from the balcony, or how she got to Granny’s couch.

“I’m sorry about your car,” she murmurs. Regina is sitting on a chair next to her, and is holding her hand.

“You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met,” she murmurs back. “Forget about my car. You almost died tonight.” Emma blinks a couple of times, then looks down at the gauze that’s wrapped tightly around her middle and left leg.

“Are the bullets out already?” she asks.

“Yeah, Em,” Ruby says as she enters the room, holding two cups of coffee. She hands one of them to Regina before carefully pushing Emma’s legs together, effectively making enough room to sit down on the couch as well. “You’re lucky Granny’s such a badass.” Emma groans when her leg is being moved, but nods.

“She definitely is,” she says, before turning to Regina. “Thank you, too.” Regina takes a sip of her coffee and doesn’t meet Emma’s gaze.

“Don’t thank me,” she says, “you forced me to out myself in front of my son.” Emma winces.

“Shit, sorry. At least now he knows that you’re not Nightflame, right?” Regina sighs.

“I suppose. He seemed thrilled at having a superhero for a mom, anyway,” she answers. “Hopefully that’ll alleviate the shock of seeing a woman almost bleed to death on our balcony.” Emma smiles.

“If you want, I can come by again when I’m better. I’ll let you defeat me. He’ll love it.” Regina actually smiles back and Emma grins.

“So, not to interrupt your date plans, or whatever,” Ruby says, and the blush on Emma’s face is instantaneous, “you still have a life-threatening diamond to get rid of, Em.” Emma sighs.

“Yeah I know. What do you think, ice queen?” she says as she turns back to Regina. “Should I hand it to the police?” Regina takes another sip of her coffee, considering.

“You could do that,” she answers. “Or you could do what you’ve been telling those mobsters all along and, you know.” She gestures offhandedly. “Throw it in the ocean.” Emma chuckles.

“You heard that? Okay, cool. Let’s do it.”

***

They’re floating out to sea; Black Blizzard, Nightflame and Henry, sitting on a raft made out of ice, courtesy of the Blizzard. Henry is sitting cross-legged in between them, holding the diamond in his hands like it’s made of glass.

“It’s so pretty,” he murmurs, eyes roaming over every facet of the stone.

“I guess,” Nightflame says with a shrug. “It gets old, though. You bring that video camera, kid?” Henry nods, attention never wavering from the diamond. For all intents and purposes, Nightflame and Black Blizzard are wearing their masks, along with their usual getup. Henry might know who they are behind the mask now, but they still have a role to play.

“Not that I’m attempting to talk you out of this,” the Blizzard starts, “but are you sure? Unless you feel like scouring the bottom of the ocean, there is no coming back from this.”

“I’m sure,” Nightflame answers. “This thing is not worth anyone losing their lives over. The world will be better off without it.”

“You know, mom, this will be your first time breaking the law,” Henry says matter-of-factly. Nightflame can’t help but laugh at that.

“The righteous Black Blizzard, breaking the law,” she says. “I’m so glad I’m alive to see this glorious day.”

“If you’re not careful, I’ll make sure you won’t be alive to see it, after all,” the Blizzard says coolly, but there is no real bite behind it. Henry breaks out in a fit of giggles, the diamond suddenly forgotten, and the smile on the Blizzard’s face is immediate. Nightflame smiles, too; now that the whole misunderstanding between Henry and Regina is cleared up, she seems so much happier.

After a couple more minutes of joking around and drifting off, Nightflame decides that this place is perfect. Due to her injuries, she can’t really stand yet, so she shifts forward until she’s sitting at the edge of the ice raft. With her feet dangling in the water, she’s steady enough. Nightflame snatches the diamond from Henry’s hand, ignoring his yell of protest, and turns her back to the both of them. The ocean stretches out as far as the eye can see in front of them. It’s perfect. Nightflame turns back to the Blizzard and Henry.

“You can start filming now, kid,” she says. Henry nods, suddenly extremely serious, and picks up the camera. Black Blizzard has a steadying hand on his back as he pushes a couple of buttons and gives Nightflame a thumbs up.

“Dear Baltic mob and any other criminal organization who’ve expressed interest in this diamond that I stole, a month ago,” Nightflame starts, a mischievous smile on her face. She holds up the diamond, stretching her arm towards the camera so Henry can get a clear image of the stone. “As I’m sure you all know by now, this is the famous DeBeers diamond, which used to sit in the Patiala necklace before someone like you stole it.” Nightflame tosses the diamond up once, before catching it and continuing. “Since I got tired of hiding it and of the fact that _no one_ believed me when I told them I threw it in the ocean, I decided to prove it all to you. Watch.” She holds the diamond in front of the camera again, between her index finger and her thumb, then closes her fist around it. Then, with all the power she can muster and some fire for good measure, Nightflame hurls the diamond in the distance. It sails through the sky, going further and further, before landing in the water with a quiet splash. Nightflame turns back to the camera with a smile. “I hope you believe me now when I say I threw the _damn_ thing into the ocean. And don’t come after me or I’ll make sure there’s hell to pay.” Emphasizing her words for good measure, Nightflame holds up her palms and makes fierce, blue flames dance across them. “ _Literally_ ,” she says with a grin. Henry is grinning too as he stops the recording.

“That was _great_ , Emma!” he says happily.

“Oh Henry, when I’m wearing the mask, I’m Nightflame,” Nightflame quickly corrects. There is no one else on the water but them, but keeping their secret identities hidden is an essential part of Nightflame and the Blizzard’s work.

“Oh, of course,” Henry says quickly. “That was great, _Nightflame_.” Nightflame grins.

“You got it, kid.”

“Now that the invaluable diamond is resting on the bottom of the ocean, how about we head back home, Henry?” the Blizzard asks, already twirling her hand to rotate the ice raft, directing it back to the mainland.

“Sure mom. Can Nightflame come?” he asks. Nightflame is sure she’s looking at her nemesis as hopefully as Henry is, but her back and her leg are still hurting like hell so she doesn’t really care about what the Blizzard thinks of her, right now.

“I’m not too sure about Nightflame,” Black Blizzard starts, “but Emma is more than welcome to join us.” Nightflame can’t help herself and grins widely.

“Great!” Henry says excitedly. “Can you make this thing go any faster, mom?” The Blizzard purses her lips and doesn’t say anything, but Nightflame sees the slight twist of her wrist as clear as she can feel their speed picking up. She slides back a little on the raft, ending up next to Black Blizzard as she gives Henry the space to carefully crawl forward.

“Don’t fall in, kid,” Nightflame warns him as she slumps against the Blizzard, who turns her head and fixes her with a questioning gaze. “What?” she says with a pout, “my back hurts.” The Blizzard doesn’t say anything and instead lays a cool hand on Nightflame’s lower back, who lets out a sigh at the immediate relief. “Thanks,” she says.

“You’re welcome,” the Blizzard answers.

Nightflame sighs and relaxes against Black Blizzard as the hero directs them back to shore, the sun warm on her skin. The waves on the water rock their raft slightly, but Nightflame doesn’t mind it at all when she has the Blizzard’s hand steady and secure on her back, feeling a lot like reassurance and a little like a promise, too.


End file.
